


Nature of the Beast

by JessicaPendragon



Series: Non Canon Keela Lavellan [17]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arlathan, Arlathan AU, Edging, F/M, Smut, Threesome - F/F/M, butt stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-07 11:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6802621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and Lavellan are generals in Mythal’s service and are both in line to become the Evanuris’ next Keeper. Their competition gets a little more complicated along the way. It sounds epic but it's honestly just a bunch of unapologetic Solavellan smut. Enjoy.</p><p>
  <a href="http://jessicapendragon.tumblr.com/post/141471880339/nature-of-the-beast">Tumblr Link</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Painted Viper

She does not knock.

Knocking would infer some type of deference and it is the one thing she is loathe to show him, lest it is done with a modicum of amused mockery. Lately, her clever and coy words have been colored by more than competition. They have been heavier, heated with suggestion as her fingers drag across his, as she bites into those soft lips, as she moans beneath him and into the pillows. He does not know what new game she is playing, but the scratch marks down his back from their recent encounter remind him that he seems all too willing to play.

A foolish gambit, perhaps, but he has never been one to submit no matter the battle faced. He can tell there is a new one beginning as soon as she slips in through the door. She does not wear the armor and leather of their shared station and instead breezes into the room wearing violet silks barely held together with glistening, golden ropes, hair oil slick in the sunlight across her glowing skin and eyes shining all the brighter with the dark kohl around them.

She is beautiful. He tries to shake out the dangerous thought but it sticks, sliding down his spine, as she stalks towards his desk. “Good afternoon, Solas.”

“Aneth Ara, Lavellan.”

She tuts. “So formal. I know you can say my true name with skilled proficiency, even under strenuous circumstances.”

“Is there a reason for your visit?”

“I have come to tell you that Andruil and her company will be arriving within the hour. They were spotted from the keep.”

“I was not aware you had fallen so quickly from Mythal’s grace to become a mere page in her service.” He traces the blood red lines of her vallaslin half finished like his. Only one of them shall have the honor of wearing the Evanuris’ completed marks.

“You will not be rid of me so easily.” She stops by his side, leg brushing against his as she all but sits upon the desk. The smell of her perfume muddles his mind, his senses filling with her. Keela leans over, placing her hands on his chair to trap him.  “Can I not extend you a simple courtesy, one Guardian to another?”

“I have not known you to trouble yourself on the behalf of others when there is no personal gain to be had.”

“I can be very generous when I so choose. In fact, I’m in a giving mood at the moment.”

She does not press in for a kiss to his like he envisions. Instead, she crawls to her knees and between his, quick fingers half way undone with the lacing of his breeches before he has the mind to grab her wrist. “What are you-”

Eyelashes flutter over yellow eyes, smile cloying sweet, but there is no naivety in her intentions. It is wrong to run his thumb over the blue veins beneath her skin and hope to feel her pulse rush just as his does every time they connect, to indulge in this madness anymore than they have. His mind is full of tactics and logic, hundreds of years of knowledge and experience sharpened to a useful edge, and it all seems to dull in her presence. Slowly, he lets loose his grip and watches her grin turn hungry.

His hands move to the edges of the chair as she makes fast work of his pants and pulls them down enough for her purposes. She hums in approval to see him spring free, already half hard and willing, and it is with little success that he manages to stop himself from making noise when she sinks her lips around him. Already she seems to know how to unravel him with ease, tongue twirling and following throbbing lines like roads straight to his weaknesses.

Just when heat starts to coil deep there is a knock at the door. They both still for a moment, hearts hammering. Solas’ instinct is to stand but he finds his effort thwarted by a firm hold and glances down to find his cock resting in her open mouth, a wicked challenge presented in the arch of her brow and the gleam of her eyes.  

It is with a deviousness of his own that he sifts his hands into her hair and urges her head forward as he calls out. “Come in.”

One of the lower priests of the temple enters and for the life of him he cannot remember their name as Keela hollows out her cheeks. “Cleric Abelas sent me with a few matters to attend before the goddess arrives.”

“You may leave it here and I will-”

“I was told to wait for your answers,” they say and he feels Keela smirk around him. He pulls harder on her hair in reply and suffers from the bite on her nails into his thighs as she must take him further. 

“If you must. Read me the demands and I shall reply to the best of my abilities.”

The list seems endless and he cannot be sure what is even being said between them anymore as his body tightens and tingles. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, boring into the other servant with an intensity that makes them shift and glance away after a time. His vivid imagination tortures him as much as her tongue does - he can picture her lips around him, slick and warm, the edges of her eyes watering as she pushes past her limits and holds him as long as she can.

It is somewhere in the middle of the missive a soft groan drifts up to his ears - not his own, but hers. He cannot resist looking now. What is meant to be a quick glance becomes something riveted as he finds her face resting against his leg, mouth agape as her one hand slowly pumps his length and the other has disappeared beneath the silk of her skirts.

He bites his cheek to catch curses before they fly but nothing can stop his face from reddening to see her seeking her own pleasure. With some tenderness he traces her lips as her breath hitches and for a moment something besides the boiling heat of lust fills him. It is impossible, this affection born of grander things- even more impossible to see the barest hint of it reflected back as their eyes meet.

“My lord?”

His head snaps up to the servant, their gaze confused and a little flustered. “Out.”

“I-I beg your-”

Solas takes a deep breath. “Give me a moment.”

They pause a moment longer before giving a small bow and turn towards the door. Solas barely waits until the bolt clicks before he shoves his seat back to see her better. “A selfless act indeed.”

She laughs, deep and breathless, and stretches up to meet him. “Perhaps you were right about me.”

It is with slow deliberation that she brings fingers to her mouth to clean away her own glistening arousal and he feels every nerve set alight at the sight. Yes, he is right. She is beautiful, like a painted viper, and her venom is in his veins. He yanks her to him, groaning as he tastes her, and thinks about tossing her atop the desk and being the one to kneel. It is too much, this desire inside him, her grip upon him twisting and squeezing, pulling him towards a fast building release.

“Keela,” he says in warning and plea. She is for once merciful, bending down to take him in her mouth again and he can only last a few agonizing seconds before he comes with a low growl, hips hammering as his seed coats the back of her throat. She makes a show of swallowing, tongue darting out to catch the last drops, and it sends a painful ache through his wave of pleasure. He wants more even with bliss making his limbs useless and mind clouded. While he finds his way back towards earth, she reaches up into her hair and untangles his fingers. 

“I wouldn’t keep Abelas waiting too long. You know how he his.” She stands, steps out from his desk and walks towards the door, straightening the folds of her dress. “Might want to collect yourself.”

With a curse he manages to return his attire to its proper place before she opens the door to reveal an elf with face glowing and eyes glued to the report in hand. He finds he doesn’t care as Keela glances back at him, smirking with mischief and something else like a promise growing in her eyes.

“He’s all yours,” she says and yet he feels a part of himself follow her as she goes. A foolish gambit, perhaps, but he is all too willing to play.


	2. A Clever Fox

He does not see her enter the hall at first. His back is to the wide doorway as he speaks with one of Dirthamen’s scholars, but he notices the woman’s widening gaze shift to the side, her mouth halting its words to form a little circle of surprise. They have all come to Arlathan for Ascendi - the week of celebration around Elvhenan to honor the noble victory of the Evanuris against the darkest foes. Tonight is the culmination of all the festivities when the eternal flame will pass from June’s hand into Andruil’s and her one hundred year reign will begin.  

Solas forgets all of this when he turns around. He is glad the nearby attention of the crowd is drawn to Keela’s presence so they do not notice how the tips of his ears redden and his own mouth goes slack. She wears a dress of sheer red with golden embellishments and lengths of darker fabric placed in strategic places to give some illusion of modesty. Her hair is piled high on her head in curls and gold, lips red like a ripe apple and begging to be devoured, but he knows better - she is the one who consumes until you are eaten through to the core.

She does not meet his gaze and yet he is not fooled. Throughout the night she is always somewhere nearby, the vanilla of her perfume curling beneath his nose, beckoning him to turn and find her. Her laughter echoes like the drumming of his heart, deep and quick. Even her overheard words seem to have more meaning to them when she speaks of sparring and danger and _poor choices_. She knows where he is without looking - she knows exactly what she’s doing, and not for the first time does he feel like the fool.

It is all a great injustice, but one deserved. 

For a month he has spurned all her advances after one discussion with Mythal over how the eyes of all Elvhenan were now upon them, of how the competition between the two of them seems to have ‘escalated’. He took it all for a warning that such rumors and risks would only ruin both their reputations. Such stakes made him bow out of their game no matter how his heart protests, no matter how many nights he stays at the edge of sleep, aching. He throws himself headlong into his work and studies, avoids the intersections where they once collided, bites into his own knuckles when he would rather taste her flesh between his teeth.

Keela declared all out war upon him in return and tonight it appears she is going for the coup de grâce. 

He thought their rivalry to become First was a battle, but he did not grasp the full extent of her determination. There were small skirmishes to begin. Offerings of sweets left at the corner of his desk, coy words whispered when they’ve been forced to work closely together. She respects him enough to not reach out anymore, but he feels her eyes run across him just as heavy as her hands. The attacks became bolder - making sure he is present in the baths as she walks in and disrobes, a heated note stuffed between the pages of his book, a test of his will when they accompany Andruil on a hunt and share a tent.

He is far from the only one that follows her around the festivities. There are plenty of admirers that grovel at her feet and prune their feathers for her notice. Each smile and laugh she offers them sticks sharp between his ribs. She is not something to be owned no matter the marks upon her face, a fox too clever for any snare, but even so there was something between only them and it pains him to see her offer pieces to others. 

His self control finally wavers when one suitor gets closer than all the others. He does not recognize the elf with markings of Falon’Din but Keela seems all too familiar with him. A hand travels up her arm, slow and playful, as he ducks close to her ear to whisper something that makes a grin spread across her mouth. He stays there, only pulling far away enough to brush a soft kiss upon her jaw, and Solas is half way across the room before he even realizes it.

Keela’s eyes finally catch his as he approaches and the heated look inside them makes his veins burn. “Lavellan, may I have a word? It is a matter of some urgency.”

“Of course. Excuse me.” He leads her out of the main hall and down corridors until the words and footfalls of other revelers are distant things. She makes her annoyance at this lengthy journey clear. “Was a tour of the palace truly so urgent? What is it that you want, Solas?”

With a tug upon her elbow he pulls her behind the shelter of a mammoth statue to Elgar’nan and shoves her against the stone. He chases after the quiet gasp that leaves her lips, hovering his hand over their glistening surface. “What I want…is to see this color smeared down the length of me.”

He kisses the lines of her face, nibbling at the place another dared to worship. His other hand reaches down to bunch her skirts upon about her waist until he feels the soft flesh of her thigh, digs fingers into her ass, moaning when he finds there are no smalls to hinder his exploration. He rocks into her, letting her know exactly how much he _wants._

“What I want is to see you walk back through the hall and know it is my seed that coats your thighs.” His touch travels to her center to find her warm and wet, willing as he presses inside. Fingers curl and unlock a shudder that rolls through her body. 

“Are you sure…you could- _ah!_ stand to sully my reputation so?”

“What-”

With a frustrated whine Keela falls back out of his grasp and removes his hand from between her legs. “Do you think you were the only one Mythal spoke to? What did you do, cower at her feet and beg forgiveness for wanting something of your own? We can be hers and belong to ourselves too. I want this, but I do not want it if every time you look upon me it is with guilt and shame. So decide, Solas. What is it that you truly want?”

“You,” he decides, quite suddenly yet surely. He recognizes the choice she is offering him, sees the line in the sand that he will cross, and he does not care. He wants this, to fall into a trap laid by the fox no matter how it may hurt. There can be no denying it anymore.

She smiles, a flash of brightness before dark desire floods her eyes. “Then take what you want.”

Together they work at the lacing and buckles of his pants, breathes growing louder in the narrow space between them, and desperation makes their efforts clumsy. He finally bats her hands away completely to finish the task on his own and watches her turn around to brace palms against the statue. A growl builds low in his throat as she brushes her backside against him, as she begs for him to hurry. Neither of them will last long, he realizes- she is too hot and tight around him and she is already half mad from his touch already. He does not hold back, thrusting into her with abandon until they are both crying out.

For a moment, he rests against her back to feel their nerves shiver and hearts battling between ribs and something stretches between them again, an intimacy that is more lasting than lustful affairs. Words are on the tip of his tongue, a tangle of emotions and dreams loosened by the ecstasy of the moment, but instead tastes the salt against her skin as he leaves lazy kisses against her shoulders and neck. He wants to linger here and reacquaint himself with every inch of her, but he knows their presence will soon be missed. They will have to wait until later when they can shed all their clothes and responsibilities in the shelter of private quarters.

“Had I known you would be so easily swayed by jealousy…” A sigh escapes as he finally slips from her embrace and she begins to straighten her dress and replace the locks of hair that fell in disarray. When she turns around the fading flush on her cheek is the only suspect indication of their activities and he fears he fairs far worse.

“Jealousy requires ownership and you have never been mine.”

She laughs, a deep seated thing that makes desire flood through him again. It is made harder to ignore as she lifts her skirts and runs her hand against her thigh. With a wicked light in her eyes she brings slick fingers to her mouth and sucks them dry. “And am I now?”

“You-” he curses her and receives another laugh and a quick pet against his slackened jaw.

“I can’t wait to see what the rest of the evening brings out in you.”

His body can do nothing but follow her back to the gathering already aching again to be flush against hers, yet his mind is working on strategic maneuvers and drawing new battle lines that will make her regret those words. For it is his turn in this great, rekindled war of theirs and he plans on paying her back in kind. 


	3. A Menagerie à Trois

A few weeks later the high ranking servants accompany Mythal to a remote temple of the All Father high in the clouds of perilous mountains. Solas does not know why they’ve embarked upon this sudden visit to Elgar’nan’s lands. Keela does not know either, or else she refuses to tell him. He is tasked with securing their arrangements while she stays close to Mythal’s side as the Evanuris talks with Elgar’nan’s Keeper. 

Although they have kept in contact through messages every once in a while, it has been some time since he last saw them in person. The last time was when she received her new markings and station, accepted the matured lines of ivy and color across her face. Her blood red hair is different than before, cut close about her head, and he wonders if it was done so she could show her marks with pride. The eyes are the same, however, deep forests strong and sturdy, unbowed by the passage of time. She gives him a silent greeting, perhaps a bit more friendly than necessary, and the exchange does not go unnoticed. Keela’s attention pivots between them for a moment before returning to Mythal and he cannot see her thoughts through the calm expression she wears.

Later in the night there is a feast held in Mythal’s honor. It is subdued for Elgar’nan with only ten courses held between giant spheres of light that hold landscapes inside. A dusty desert, plains battered by heavy storms, clear water with bright fish, and even more exotic locations. If one sticks their hand inside they can feel the heat of the sun, the electric rain against their skin, the tickling sensation of fish nibbling at fingertips. Solas’ eyes are currently upon the dazzling lightning storm before he finds something far more dangerous.

Keela stands in close conversation with Elgar’nan’s Keeper. Solas knows the look upon her face well - curiosity cut with an edge of careful steel and a smile that could turn sharp in an instant. He doesn’t have to guess at what they’re discussing when together their eyes turn towards him. It takes a concentrated force of will to keep his face calm and he is sure he fails at it in some regard, but he does his best to nod and lift his glass to them in quick salute.

Of course he does not escape so easily. He has a handful of quiet moments of reprieve before he’s trapped. “Were you going to go the whole night without greeting me?”

He gives a generous bow to the Keeper. “Aneth era, Hahren.”

“Please, Solas. No need for such formalities when we are simply speaking as old friends.”

“As you wish, Abora,” he relents. “It is good to see you.”

“You as well. It has been some time and I think you may have left a few things out of your more recent correspondences.”

“What do you mean?” Abora lifts her chin and he follows her gaze to find Keela at its end deep in talk with one of Mythal’s servants. “I have told you about Lavellan.”

“Not the important bits. Your situation seems to have changed. Rumors have already spread about your relationship. A dangerous gambit, bedding your enemy. Even for you I find it surprising.”

“There is no relationship, only…a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Oh, truly? I thought-” After a thoughtful pause Abora gives a small shrug. “Well then, you wouldn’t mind if I…?”

“I am unsure if she would reciprocate such attentions, but you do not need my permission in any case.”

She smiles, her eyes shining like the flint of an arrow tip. “Hm, I imagine this is going to be an interesting visit.”

He doesn’t disagree. He voices no protests when the next day they accompany Elgar’nan and Mythal on a ride up to a hidden grove and Abora and Keela ride together, heads tipped towards one another and quiet laughter sometimes lifting up to fly with startled birds. Or when he finds them obscured by the fog of morning but it’s clear how close Abora presses Keela against the stone wall, and he’s glad he can’t hear what passes between them this time for the tips of his ears are already red enough.

It does not bother him, he tells himself. Even if they reached something more that night in the shadow of Elgar’nan’s statue, he has no real claim to Keela nor her over him. Whatever they share is not binding and they are perfectly free to seek out other partners if they so choose. That he doesn’t during their stay means nothing. There are more important things to attend to than his base needs. He doesn’t tell himself this is all made easier by the fact that Keela waits in his chambers at the end of most days and it is his name she screams when he bites into flesh. 

“How well do you know Keeper Abora?” she asks one night as she stretches out across his back and plays with the tassels at the end of the bed.

“We have been friends for many years.”

Keela sweeps one of them across his feet, smiling as he bucks beneath her. “Have you been more than friends?”

“Once upon a time,” he answers. “Before she became Keeper.”

“And did you enjoy her company?” It is said with a pause to suggest more situations than simple conversation and meetings.

Solas opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out at first. He can’t be sure why he hesitates, why he considers changing the subject or spinning a white web of lies made of jealousy he should not possess. “She is…formidable.”

“You make her sound like an army, Solas.”

“I have very fond memories of our time together.” Keela tickles the tops of his foot again and this time he twists around to lay a hard smack against her backside. A squeal dissolves into light laughter that he can’t help but join in with the deep undertone of his own. They end up wrapped around one another with her breath blowing across his neck.

“I believe I would enjoy her company too.”

The words sink into his skin but he doesn’t absorb them right away for there’s a question hanging in the air, not to deny the truth but to challenge the idea, that he can’t believe she would ask. Perhaps she only means to consider his feelings and not suggest anything more. He does not find the means to give answer at all- or he does, but he resists the urge to make them real. It can’t be. If she sincerely wishes for his reply he cannot tell. She only sighs, tired from a long day, and moves out of the bed. Keela bids him goodnight and it is a long time before he is able to settle into the Fade.

She does not return to his chambers the next night, nor the one following that. If his temper grows shorter and his frown grows longer it is not because he spends four nights alone, and he by no means watches Abora and Keela more closely wondering if the glow upon the latter’s cheeks is from something other than the vibrant sun above them. Deep down he knows he is being foolish, fooling himself even, but there is no point dwelling upon it. It will be easier to focus on his path to become Keeper without her involvement - it is what he wanted in the first place before she entangled herself into his life.

It would likely be kinder for both of them in the long run, and yet…

On their last night within the mountain refuge it takes him a moment to register what lays in wait when he opens the door to his room. Keela reclines across one of the chairs, draped in glistening chains and a swath of violet fabric that leaves little to the imagination, and red wine held between fingertips. He doesn’t bother to deny how happy he is to see her, but his desire and relief to see her is tempered by the figure beside her. Abora sits on the arm, fingers running through Keela’s hair, her Keeper robes left behind for something barely held together.

“Good evening, Solas,” she greets him, amused at his blatant surprise.

He is quick to recover, however, straightening his back and clearing his face. “To what do I owe this…visit?”

“We have a proposition for you,” Abora says as she stands and makes her way over towards him. “As it is your last night here before Mythal returns to her city, we thought we could celebrate. Together.”

“Together?”

She trails her fingers up his chest and over shoulders, a finger curling against the nape of his neck. “Together.”

Solas places his hands on her arms and moves so they can both see Keela. He burns underneath her expression, something full of promise and power, boiling his blood with the very idea already within his grasp. There are no objections from her mouth, no smirk set upon it either - she only watches, waiting, with intense curiosity alight in her eyes.

“Your kitten wants to play,” Abora whispers in his ear. “Shall we?”

If this is what they want, what _she_ wants, then he won’t deny it. Solas answers by bringing his finger beneath her chin and guiding lips to his own. They are cool and inviting, opening to eagerly share the taste of peppermint on her tongue. He takes his time with soft and seeking kisses, hands reacquainting with the curves and lines of a masterpiece left unappreciated for far too long. Abora does the same, snatching at the buttons and clasps of his clothes as she goes. Even as the night air hits his skin there is the warmth of her body pressed to his, the kind that melts the mind and dissolves all thoughts. 

She drags nails down his revealed sides and makes him dance away at the tickling sensation. “Just as I remember.”

He replies with lips adamant against her neck as his touch follows the exposed arch of her spine and Abora shivers, clutching him tighter. “Ah, just as I remember as well.”

She laughs, a little breathless he is pleased to hear, before she gives him a hard shove. For a moment panic lurches inside his stomach but he only falls back into the awaiting bed behind him. Victory spreads across her face at having caught him unawares and he doesn’t mind this loss as she quickly undoes the lacing of his pants and tugs them off. Abora orders him to the head of the bed but doesn’t follow. Instead she turns to the person across the room.

“Come here,” she commands kindly. Keela takes a last sip of her wine before placing it down and rising. Her eyes find Solas’, flashing with a nervousness he has never seen before, but she straightens her shoulders and strides to Abora’s side. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.“ 

"If you have changed your mind…" 

“I have not." 

"If you do, speak and-”

Keela’s expression changes like a quick wind as she wraps lacquered nails around Abora’s throat, thumb pressing up so their eyes meet without any doubt. She holds her in place as her other hand pioneers up an arm, across the expanse of a shoulder, pauses to swirl around the fading mark Solas left behind. There are no more words spoken and yet understanding passes between them both as they move, bodies coming together and lips meeting. They watch one another, testing, teasing, trying to learn each other’s tells with every touch and tug. 

The quiet room grows louder with the sounds of breaths becoming faster, mouths moving, the rustle of clothing being bunched in fists. Blood begins to sing in their ears, thrumming with an energy that can be felt racing through every inch. When a hand sifts into hair and pulls back, Keela lets loose a low moan that seems to rumble through them all. 

Abora takes advantage of a neck now on display. She goes lower, over a collar and down, stopping to nibble at the top of Keela’s dress. All her attention moves to removing it and both Abora and Solas sigh in appreciation when it falls discarded to the floor. “So lovely, I think we’ll keep the chains on,” the Keeper says, reaching out to give attention to Keela’s breasts, gently massaging them before flicking thumbs over nipples and drawing out sound from her as well. “On the bed.”

“Come here.” Solas beckons for her and Keela crawls forward, planting herself between his legs. As she tries to lean in for a kiss Solas twists her around instead and holds her back against his chest, hooks his feet around hers to spread her wide and trapping her arms around his. The delicate silver jewelry she still wears is cold against his skin but it is Keela that shivers. “I do believe you should have the honor, lathallan.”

Abora snickers. “How very thoughtful of you, lethallin.”

She takes a moment to unclasp the belt from around her hips and steps out of her own clothing at last. Solas admires her form all anew, full of softness and sculpted curves, different from the hard muscles and straight lines of the body against him now, but no less beautiful in any way. Abora climbs towards them, fingers and nails sliding up Keela’s legs as she goes. They embrace again, briefly, before she bobs her head and claims a darkened nipple in her mouth. Solas follows her lead on the other breast and together they tease, her mouth sucking and nipping while his fingers pinch and roll until they’re pulling strings of pants from Keela. 

“Have any advice for me?” Abora asks as she slinks down, pressing kisses into a trembling stomach and twitching hipbone, pausing as Solas often does on the irresistible birthmark nestled nearby.

“She is not shy in announcing her pleasure, nor does she shy away from a little pain.”

“Is that so?” Abora trails wet kisses into Keela’s inner thigh before biting down. Solas feels her tense and listens to her cry out, watches her crumple the bedspread in a tight grip and let go as teeth do to leave a red mark behind. “Mmm, I wonder what other sounds you make.”

It doesn’t take a long time to discover the answer. With only a few sweeps through slick skin Abora has Keela crumbling, little moans catching on almost every exhale that grow longer with every electric moment. Solas watches her arousal glisten on lips and tongue eager to taste, feels his own achingly hard against Keela’s back, but he only cares for the two before him for now. He is not idle, palming flesh and mouth upon every inch he can reach, and in tandem they push her closer and closer to oblivion.

 “I…” Keela keens as Abora sinks a finger inside her, then another. A low groan goes straight through him as he pinches both her nipples and she repays him in kind by latching nails onto his thigh. “Yes gods, there. Ah!” Legs begin to tremble and try to close but Solas keeps her steady, bringing her back into him when she arches away. He can feel the heat of her release rising, hear it in the wordless pleas now falling from her lips. Abora meets his gaze and smiles, pulls back far enough for a moment so he can see every action that has Keela almost weeping, and he feels like praising and cursing her at the same time. 

“Come for us,” she demands and returns to her task, adding another finger that makes Keela’s hips shoot off the bed. When Solas bites into the tender skin of her neck she tenses all over, drawing in a shuddering gasp that is trapped inside as she can do nothing but obey. He feels her orgasm spark between every part of them that touches and holds her secure when she finally lets go of her breath and becomes a boneless heap in his arms. 

“Well done,” he applauds. Abora rises to her knees to kiss him and he voices his enjoymeny to taste Keela upon her, the familiar scent of it causing his arousal to renew with strength. 

“Why thank you.” She takes Keela’s face in her hand and gives her a long, lingering kiss that has them both breathing heavily by the end. “I want to see you on top of him. I want to see you move.”

In little time Solas is flat against the bed with Keela straddling his thighs. She does not take him right away but instead falls forward, pressing flush against him, and her mouth is hungry and sharp, pulling his lip between teeth and biting hard enough to almost draw blood. It is her turn to toy as she moves her hips, dragging the length of him through her wet slit, and devours his moan when she does it again. “Keela…”

With a sigh she lifts herself and slowly sits down upon him. Neither of them move at first and simply feel the pulse of their want and rampant heartbeats. Solas places his hands on her hips and tries to ground himself, to find control when he wants to move beneath her and chase the thrill already building. “Keela,” he says again and this time it is laced with need.

She relents, riding him with a pace that grows steadily harder and faster. For a few minutes all Solas and Abora can do is watch the way her body moves, the muscles in her thighs and stomach clenching and rolling as she all but dances above him. Then Abora is beside her, one hand grasping black hair and the other coming to where the two of them are joined. Solas tries to think about anything else but the indomitable women before him and this coiled heat threatening to explode inside for there is no way he will forgive himself if he bows out of this too early.

He is grateful in more ways than one when Keela’s cries become higher again and suddenly choke off as another orgasm rushes through her. He waits beyond a couple breaths before pushing himself up and forcing her down upon the sheets. She does not resist being moved, nor does Abora as he reaches for her next. Little instruction is needed as she settles herself over Keela, reaching out for sensitive skin and mouth swollen. The Keeper groans loudly when Solas strokes his fingers inside her, curling and spreading, pausing to pull out and drag circles and patterns over her clit. He repeats it over and over until she’s shaking and begging and he can resist no longer. 

Abora gives a low whine when he removes his hand but it quickly turns into something approving as he lines himself up and fills her with in one smooth motion. He gives a few slow pumps, hand running up and down her back, before he digs fingers into her sides and pulls her back far enough to see Keela’s face fully.

“Touch her,” he tells her and knows she listens as Abora’s velvet heat surrounding him tightens and pulses in response. He does not hold back after that. Bodies snap together and the room fills with a chorus of abandonment and the sound of skin climbing towards ecstasy. The end is drawing near for him, a wave that has been building and now ready to crash onto shore, but he manages to hold out until Abora stiffens beneath him, calling out with rapture as she comes. His own release follows shortly after, washing over him with a force that has him gasping for air after it passes. 

In a blissful haze they manage to take a few moments to clean themselves and reorder the tousled bed before collapsing into it with huffs of satisfied exhaustion. “Well, I daresay this has been a most successful visit,” Abora says.

Solas manages to get out a lazy laugh. “Indeed.”

“What do you think, kitten?” Keela gives Abora a final kiss and whispers something Solas cannot catch before she turns to him. The kiss she shares with him is longer, warm even though their desire has cooled. There is another want simmering in the golden warmth of her eyes, but she does not name it. She doesn’t tell him anything and instead buries herself into his chest with one last contented murmur. He thinks, with a dread that is barely be felt through all the affection and adrenaline still flowing in his veins, that he knows the want reflected in her gaze. He has known it for some time. 

Belatedly he notices Abora watching him carefully, her own eyes heavy but clear enough to see what is happening before her. “You are in trouble, Solas.”  

He glances down at the now sleeping elf in his arms and doesn’t disagree.  Solas brushes the hair from Keela’s forehead and leaves a kiss there. “Yes.”

art by [destinyapostasy](http://destinyapostasy.tumblr.com/)


	4. A Stubborn Ass

The boredom is driving her mad. She can forgive her goddess for the secrets, the closed doors, the lack of instructions as they are left behind, but Keela does not appreciate being left with nothing to pass the time. In the past few days she has managed to check every inch of the temple and the outlying area, clean her armor until it blinds in the light of the sun. All the while having an ear turned towards the doors waiting for Mythal to return, nerves fraying even if she is told not to worry. 

There are too many things happening to not worry these days. Whispers, echoes, the earth shuddering beneath their feet and reports of strange creatures crawling from the underground. Then there is the unknown future of her service with Mythal and where fate will take her. She doesn’t know what she will do if she doesn’t become Keeper. The lines upon her face are permanent and so must be her allegiance unless released. The fire in her refuses to settle for anything less than everything she can have.

And then, of course, there is  _Solas._

She heads toward his rooms where he’s managed to seclude himself for their supposed holiday. Even though it is night, it is like stepping from that grey dusk of day into the bright sunshine as she moves over the threshold. Torches and candles are lit in gilded sconces, a fine melody drifting from a small device atop a polished desk. Solas sits inside a lush chair, nose stuck between the pages of a book while one hand holds a glass of something red. 

Keela crosses her arms. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” he answers quite casually without looking up. 

“Are you not even a little bit bothered or curious about where she has gone without us?”

“Curious, of course, but hardly bothered. Mythal does not owe us explanations, nor the delight of her company at every moment.”

“Something is  _wrong_ , Solas. Can you not feel it?”

At that he finally glances up at her. The wine has painted his lips dark and she resists licking hers as she guesses at the taste. “I have investigated what I can outside of disobeying direct orders, as I am sure you have as well. For now, there is nothing further to be done but deploy patience. Or, if you prefer, stomping around the temple like a child-”

She growls, grabs the glass from his grasp, and stalks away towards the table nearby. Solas is already back into his book by the time she throws a hip into the wood and takes a sip. It is heavy, wood smoke and spices spreading warm fingers across her chest. For a time, she watches him flip through the pages, swirling thoughts and liquor in her head and hand, but the monotony grows wearisome. She is not without patience - she knows how to lie in wait, but frustration dictates her claws dig into something, and soon.

Teeth bare in a wicked grin behind the rim of her glass. What better morsel than the one before her now? “How old are you, Solas?”

“Old.”

She gives a quick laugh and places the drink down. “You have been Mythal’s for a long time. So patient, to have worked your way through the ranks so slowly. Although I wonder if indeed you are a man of patience, or stubbornness, for you have shown me much of the one and little of the other.”

“And I suppose you have concocted a way to discern the truth?”

“I have.”

Keela swats the book to the side and crawls into his lap. Solas gives an indulgent sigh but his hands are not lax in finding a place to splay across her hips. Lips press into his neck, tongue tasting a short line up his collar as she plucks buttons from their places. With urgency she presses into his mouth, pushes his shirt from shoulders to drag nails down his chest. He is quick to reciprocate by undoing the tie of her dress behind her neck and following the fabric’s fall with touches growing more demanding with every inch bared. 

She waits until he’s pushing her down as his hips rise before she stands to discard the rest of their clothing. Her dress is a puddle easily navigated, his remaining garments no challenge to her goals. Solas lifts her leg into his lap, fingers tracing up her calf and across knee, his lips coming to kiss the inside of her thigh as his hand meanders higher. 

She indulges his touch for now, lets him make her ache as he draws circles into her flesh and teases, spreads, long strokes of his thumb plying sighs from her mouth. For a little while she lets herself get lost in the sensations, in the feel of his fingers inside curling and filling and  _gods,_  it would be an easy thing to climb into his lap again and find quick satisfaction, but that is not her goal today. 

Keela drops her leg and steps back from the chair. That curiosity she knows well crosses his brow and follows her across the room as she reaches the stand beside his bed and fishes something from its depths. When she returns, she presses the vial of amber oil into the hollow of his throat, slowly drags it down the center of his body. 

“How long can you sit there still and poised? How long until you give up that stubborn pride and beg for me to grant you release? How  _patient_  can you be, Solas?”

She sinks to her knees before him and uncorks the vial, pours a fair amount into hand. She warms it between her palms all the while gazing into his eyes, their expressions mimicking one another for a moment of amused excitement. The world is complicated and so are they, but not this. It is easy to kiss the inside of his thigh, to wrap her hands around him and fall into the rhythm of heartbeats and breaths, the rise of blood and tumble of senses.

She doesn’t try to think about what it means to know how to unravel him so quickly - how to twist her fingers in such a way to make blush bloom over his chest, to know the perfect pressure to push him to the end. It’s there in the way his leg begins to tremble, there in the creases of his brow and mouth. He takes a long breath that she knows will end in his lips opening with a moan of bliss – she eases up her strokes, loosens her grip, and instead the noise that comes from him is one of annoyance. He digs his fingers into his own flesh, teeth no doubt biting tongue, but he does not beg. They are both things cut from the same cloth, and it will take much more than that.

With care, she begins again. Slow and teasing, fingertips spreading out across his head and beneath it. She tries to see what new reactions can be made - the unknown melody he’s tapping into the armchair when his knuckles aren’t white, the way his eyes squeeze shut and the words and patterns he’s trying to use to concentrate are as apparent as if they were floating between them. She sees right through him, like each time she takes him close a piece of his armor falls away.

The third time he finally concedes the first battle by reaching for her arm. “Keela-”

“What, Solas?” He clamps his mouth shut as she grins and slowly moves his hand back to its former place. The way he grinds his jaw reminds her of that time in his office when she snuck below his desk and pulled him into her mouth. His eyes had darkened so wonderfully when he grabbed her hair, and pleasure pools low and hot at the remembrance. She will have him, his mouth, his cock, his fingers, whatever she wants, but not until she gets what she truly wants from him first.

“Be still. Or do I need to restrain you?” The way he looks at her at such a notion, the tops of his cheeks turning even redder, sends a spark down her spine that has her aching. “Perhaps next time. Move forward.” 

She takes a time to pour more oil into her palm before continuing and pioneers the hand lower between his legs. The first brush around tight muscles has him sucking in a deep breath that he holds as she gently presses a finger inside. Her other hand massages into his thigh urging him to relax so she can move deeper, give more, but she finds him receptive enough as he shifts her further her when she dares to pause for a moment. 

When she adds another finger he makes to reach for her, moans catching in his throat, before he catches himself and imprints slivers into his own skin again. Her other hand returns to his flushed erection and he drops his head back. She works him slowly, spreading her fingers and twisting the others up and down him. His whole body reacts when she curls them just so and she has to bite her lip to keep her own excitement from leaking out to see him like this, sweating and shivering and stretched open in every way.  

He’s so sensitive already it takes little time to bring him close again - she keeps thrusting into him but slows the strokes over his cock, knows he won’t be able to come with just this touch alone but it’s a wonderful torture. He knows it too as he lifts his hips up once into her hand, frustration evident in the ever hardening line of his brows begging to break with relief, but there are no pleas coming from those trembling lips. 

As a third finger slips inside to join the rest he curses her, the tail of it rising up into an almost whine. “You know what I want to hear. Tell me how you need it, how you’re weak with lust. Tell me you need to come like some pathetic youth discovering himself for the first time. Tell me you’re not strong enough to resist.” 

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I…I cannot-”

She grabs him again, hard and purposeful, the gold of her gaze shifting like a predator ready to pounce. His chest glistens, rises and falls like waves in a squall, some pretense of control lost as his hips continue to buck into her grasp to chase what she has denied. When she makes no objections he reaches for her arm next, fist finding its way into her hair and tugging. She allows him to bend forward, to press their foreheads together and anoint her brow with his sweat.

“Keela, I…” Lips press into hers, the taste of his desperation hot and wet in her mouth. So close the blacks of his eyes threaten to swallow her whole, to drag them both into the well of his release, but she has not lost herself. 

A light kiss against his chin when he’s close again, but there is no kindness to be found here. “Beg me for mercy, Solas.” 

She retreats from him, fingers and body pulling away, and the  _noise_  he lets loose - she would laugh at the wounded quality of it if he wasn’t surging forward after her, grabbing hold with demand darkening his expression. “Enough! You must-”

In one quick motion she breaks free from his grasp and stands, shoves the back of his chair hard enough to tilt it and its contents backwards. Solas lands with a thump and a gasp of air from his surprised lungs. Keela peers down at him, the command in her gaze and the shock of it all keeping him still for the time being. As he tries to catch him breath she moves to the wash basin and wipes her hands clean, returning before he can even think to get up from this ridiculous position. 

All hopes of righting himself are dashed when she sits squarely on his chest, hand coming up to grab hold of his jaw. “ _I_  must? How dare you make demands of me. I mustn’t do anything. If you wish to keep your  _pride_  then it is no matter to me.”

She moves to leave but Solas’ hands are quick to dig into her thighs. “No, I…” He huffs, the barest hint of a smile peeking through what should be a look of complete chastisement. “I apologize.”

Keela can’t help but smile too, the heavy mood breaking for something else, something almost tender. With a soft laugh she kisses him, the heat of her body shifting to a warmth blossoming in her heart. Solas seems the same, blind desire and want giving way to unguarded affection and trust, and the attentive way his thumb brushes against her skin overwhelms her. This is not supposed to be anything more than give and take, than a door ajar for lonely nights, and yet…and yet-

“I am not sure I believe your sincerity,” she says as she slips back on a mask of severity, but there is still a note of lightness to her tone. 

“Allow me to convince you.” He pulls her hips up towards his mouth.

“No, you-ahh…” Her protests burn away at the first brush of his tongue against her. He is  _cheating_ , but it is too difficult to care as her treacherous hunger rises up to meet him. An edge has been there for her too, building and building every time she watches him come closer. A tightness that steals her breath and every worry takes over her veins, sweeps away every thought and sense but the feel of him tasting, delving deep, striking against her like bolts of lightning. 

She lifts up and turns around over him to face his feet. “More,” she orders and Solas requires no further instruction. He returns his mouth to her, adds his fingers sinking into her velvet heat, and she pushes back against them with no care to how shameless it might make her. He’s grown to know her too, tongue twirling in patterns that have her legs shaking, his long fingers reaching places that curl her toes. There is no teasing in his touch, no easy build - he is racing her forward towards promised end, and she wants to burn long instead of in a flash.

Her hand returns to his cock, still slick with oil, and gives a few hard, fast strokes. Solas seizes beneath her, pauses in his actions long enough to allow her to breathe again. When they continue, her rhythm matches the slow slide of his knuckles in and out, and pleasure spreads through her blood, seeps into bones, washes through every part of her until she’s drowning in it. Her mind bottoms out when he flattens his tongue and presses just right. The grasp she has on him tightens roughly in response, dragging a delicious moan from his throat that rumbles across her skin, and with that she is lost, tumbling into ecstasy with a cry. 

When the world rights itself, the edges of it muted now, she slips over to lay by his side. Her body hums pleasantly, too pleasantly to mind the triumphant smirk on his face, but bliss has not placed her in a fog of forgetfulness as he might have wished. With her hand around him again she leans forward and licks a line through the sheen on his chin, tastes herself and the heat of him. 

“I am convinced of your sincerity and accept your apology, but that is all you will get from me for it.”

He huffs again, shifting with a grimace as she rolls her fingers around the edges of his head. Imagining his sensitivity after all this time makes her squeeze her legs together and skip a breath - her orgasm still nips at her nerves, but her satisfaction is tied with his now, to the end of this game they’ve begun. She sees it in his eyes, the threads snapping, the control giving way to what he truly craves. To give in, to find someone worthy enough to offer his throat.

It is a beautiful thing when he breaks, eyes clear, every last thing holding him back falling away to reveal who he is without the armor and title and spaces between them. “Yes, please!” His voice is sweet, raw, and she feels that pull of something deeper once more. “Please release me. I cannot bear it…it is too much. I need…please Keela, I need to finish. Allow me to, I beg you.”

“As you wish.” 

He does not come easily, his whole body red and shaking, the lines of his throat pulsing as he shouts with each snap of his hips into the air. His spend streaks across his stomach, over the line of his raging heartbeat, but it is the ice that captivates her even more - spirals of it arching from his fingertips, puffing out of pale lips. His skin is burning, sweat slick and pulsing, and the frost is gone as soon as it arrives, and yet it keeps in her memory. She wonders how many else have seen him so, how many others have been trusted with such gifts, and if there is a creature of pride present in this moment it is her.

It takes him some time to fall back down and she allows him however much he needs in silence. She is careful in her care, cloth and touch smoothing over him and cleaning as much as she can before exhaustion makes it a futile effort. He’s still shivering slightly when she’s done, little jolts like gusts of errant storms, and she can’t tell if it is discomfort or something else with his arm thrown across his face. “Solas, are you all right?”

“I am fine,” he croaks out, the juxtaposition making her breathe out a quiet chuckle. She sees a hint of a smile in the shadowed space beneath his arm in return. “Perhaps some water, if you-”

“Of course.” She rises on quivering legs, feeling light and languid at the same time, as she crosses the room to retrieve a glass.  When she returns, she lays near but not touching, her body still too hot to bear the thought of adding more, but she watches him closely as he drinks. As the blush on his face recedes, the freckles there seem darker, ones she’s never seen showing through. Or perhaps she just hasn’t looked close enough before, never stopped to see him so clearly, but she sees him now.

There is a tear trapped in the corner of his eye and she reaches for it - it is cool, like the ice he made, and everything around them and inside seems just as fragile. “Anything more?”

“No, thank you.” He finally shifts off the chair and turns on his side towards her, taking her hand and placing kisses down her wrist, across her palm, bringing it to rest against his cheek. “You have…thoroughly undone me.”

“Did you doubt it? I thought you might resist forever, you stubborn ass.” There is no malice to her words and they both share in the amusement and benefits of their shared trait.

“Not against you it seems, although it should not be surprising. If recent history reveals anything, it is that you are my weakness.” It is said in the same easy cadence, but the admittance strikes against her breastbone, rolls through her ribs. The realization of his words slashes across own his features like the rising sun, a dawn not meant for them to face, and yet, and yet… “Keela-”

Her hand moves quick to press against his mouth. “Don’t. We are both…overwhelmed. Do not say something you might regret later.”

“And if my mind remains unchanged?”

“Then you know where to find me.”

She presses lips into his forehead before standing up to retrieve her clothes. It takes little time to tie her simple dress back together, to brush the tangles out of her hair. When she looks Solas is still upon the floor, now reclining back with hands beneath his head, a lazy, content grin taking root on his face.

She gently kicks his arm as she leaves. “Thank you for the distraction.”

“Thank you for the experience. If you feel compelled to repeat it, I am open to-” The look she turns upon him stills his word but unleashes a grin that spreads into something all too devilish. “Perhaps you will allow me to return the favor, then? I do believe I would enjoy testing your limits.”

The idea sends tickling tendrils down her body but she returns his playful expression with one of her own while taking in his prone position melted into the floor. “If you are capable. Goodnight, hahren.”


End file.
